


A Saccharine Villain

by Moria



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bondage, Consent Play, F/F, Frottage, Oral Sex, Tribadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moria/pseuds/Moria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before a concert Elemmírë is kidnapped, just as she wished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Saccharine Villain

**Author's Note:**

> Postage stamp/corner extra for Season of Kink. Kinks here are: secrecy, frottage/grinding, consent play/negotiation, and bondage.

Settling a slender hand on the long drawn curtains, Elemmírë’s eyes scanned out over the horizon, past the endless rows of chairs that would become fully occupied by the blossom of Telperion’s silver light. It would thus have been three days away from her home, a week since the happiest moment of her life was cut abrupt, called upon to replace the minstrel that had suddenly stricken ill (though Elemmírë suspected it was merely a bad case of cold feet.)

She would not have minded playing, for she knew the Vanyar loved her skills most in Valinor, if not for the fact that she was meant to be somewhere else. Looking out again she hoped someone would kidnap her, take her far from this place.

And just as she turned her back, a bag went over her head.

*

Her captor’s voice trailed through the entire way, cursing in some frenzied hushed tone, upsetting a vase at some point all in the short journey to their destination. Elemmírë felt the buttons of her outer coat undone and stripped away in a rough manner, what with Elemmírë struggling, and her arms dragged over a smooth surface, tied up in the back. She wore a simple strapless dress just for the occasion, which gave way easily to the captor’s tug. More bonds went over her torso and down her legs, each slightly parted, exposing just a bit of her for her captor’s enjoyment. It would have been exhilarating, as vulnerable as she was in the other’s arms, had the occasional stubbed toe or cursing as the captor tripped somewhere didn’t ruin the moment.

When Írimë at last pulled up the sack, it was to find a very unimpressed Elemmírë staring at her.

“You make a most appalling kidnapper,” she said. “There must be not one elf remaining who had not heard you.” 

“Appalling? I’m a monster,” Írimë said in what she hoped was a seductive manner. She had already stripped down to nothing, and she was lighting candles around the room, exposing more and more of the contents inside the room. “Welcome to my torture chamber, Elemmírë of the Vanyar.” 

Elemmírë blanched.

“This is only the music room backstage!” she said. “We are not as far as we had initially agreed! They will find us!”

“All the more reason for us to remain as quiet as we can. I thought this would be more exciting,” Írimë explained. “Doesn’t the mere thought of them knowing our secret plan even perk you up a little? 

“I got the idea from an article. Of couples who have been together since the days of Cuiviénen, the passion begins to diminish. The article suggested some ideas that would be a shame for newlyweds not to also try out!”

“Diminishing passions? Írimë, we have not even had the chance to consummate!” Elemmírë laughed. 

“Ah, yes, the reason for you being here in the first place,” Írimë said. “I could not stop thinking about you, you know. After your mysterious disappearance, I was utterly heartbroken. So I plotted my revenge, and here you are. 

“Oh, to have you right where I want you, just steps away from your colleagues.” She settled on her knees before her wife. “Left to my mercy. My torture of you will be only of the sweetest agony, I promise.”

She did not bluff. Her idea of a kidnapping and torture scenario involved a sack which was a crocheted bag of the colors of the House of Finwë. The binds around Elemmírë’s wrists, torso, legs, and ankles were all soft ribbons, holding her erect against a large gold harp. Pastel hues, perhaps snatched from Írimë’s scrapbooking materials. She would scoff at all this, but her wife’s earnest in trying to become as convincing of a saccharine villain was endearing in its own way, if not also arousing. 

Instead of performing, she would be the recipient of a show performed by Írimë, and the thought alone almost drove her over the edge. 

And perhaps noticing Elemmírë’s reaction to all this, Írimë planted her first kisses on a spot over the ribbon around Elemmírë’s torso, replacing the kiss with a wet tongue that seeped through and marked her wife’s pale skin. Her fingernails gently dug into her soft side, trailing up to cup and fondle a breast, trace over her underarms arms, then back, returning the same digging motion downwards. 

“Painful enough for you?” she said, kissing her way down as Elemmírë shuddered. “I could do this all night, my precious captive -

“Oh, hello there,” Írimë suddenly said, that made Elemmírë think for a moment that someone had walked in on them. But Írimë was still sitting between her legs, studying a part of her wife that had drawn her interest. 

“Your pearl is a little bit bigger than mine, love,” she said, kissing the area around. “So beautiful.” 

Her next kiss came too close, and instinctively Elemmírë arched her back, hoping Írimë’s next kiss would come right over. 

But Írimë was suddenly on her feet again, giving Elemmírë a kiss to her lips as one hand gently caressed the tip of her mound, coating her with her own juices. Then standing right before her, she pushed against her, capturing her mouth just as her hips ground against her. Immobilized, Elemmírë could do nothing but rock her hips back to meet her wife’s. The sensation spread through her, as her clit was continually stimulated by what part of Írimë was against her, but suddenly the sensation shifted as Írimë drew one leg up, her ankle hooked on Elemmírë’s shoulder. The position allowed for her to grind at such an angle that their clits rubbed against one another, eliciting gasps and moans from Írimë, suddenly seeming to forget their play. Elemmírë would have slid down to the floor had she not been securely tied to the harp, and even then she felt her weight might break the ribbons, as her entire world became the focal point of where their bodies met. 

She arched her back again and moaned out as Írimë struck a particularly sensitive spot, but was momentarily silenced by a kiss. 

“Hush! You do not want them to hear, do you?” her wife said sweetly, nuzzling against her before suckling on one nipple, nearly driving her over the edge. 

“Says the villain who makes her passion known to all in the land,” Elemmírë laughed. “I almost forgot about them.” She blushed, suddenly aware of how they must look in the middle of the music room, grinding against one of the instruments, all the while the others searched for her. The thought of it brought a heightened sensation with each rub, each flick of tongue. 

Biting back the cry, her body shuddered as Írimë’s final thrust sent her through crashing waves. Her knees buckled, but Írimë grabbed hold of her, softly singing out her adoration of Elemmírë as her body joined hers in the fruition of their lovemaking. 

Her face was still red when they redressed. 

“I do not think I can ever look at this harp the same way again,” Elemmírë confessed to Írimë, who then grinned. 

“Oh, and that was the harp they were going to lay out on stage,” she said. “You know, since the other harp will have gone missing too.” Elemmírë gasped, her face going redder as Írimë made for the door. She was halfway out when she turned back to wink at Elemmírë mischievously. “This is so you will never forget me when you play!”

“I have married a wicked wife, indeed,” Elemmírë said to herself, shaking her head in amusement. 


End file.
